


Rache

by orphan_account



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gore, Guro, M/M, Murder, Necrophilia, Rape, Revenge, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2115849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revenge takes practise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rache

**Author's Note:**

> big TW for rape and gore

Cloth covered the Scout's face. He passed out fast.  
Medic slung him over his shoulders and carried him to a quiet place.

 

Waiting. He had the boy pinned down, face down. Arms tied behind his back using his own athletic tape, face on the floor. Any other way and they can fight back, he had learned that the hard way. They were helpless, trussed up like this.

It was a very mild sedative. Most people weren't out for long. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Chanting like an incantation, wake up, boy.  
Soon enough, he did.

Medic had his scalpel ready. The boy had no clue what was happening, yet. He yanked his head back, pulled out his tongue, then sliced it out.  
That stirred him.

He shoved a cloth in his mouth, to stem both the screaming and the bleeding (can't have them die before it's time). Just once, he'd like to hear them scream more when he did this. Too risky, though. That had been one of his first lessons, after he had begun to do this; don't let anyone catch you.

He cut the Scout, relatively lightly, all up his arms. This served no purpose other than to please the Medic and prolong the torture. Easing himself into it, he supposed. Scout had no clue. Soon, he would realise why almost all of his team mates were terrified of the enemy Medic. Soon he'd stop teasing his fellows for attacking Medic instead of the Heavy he hid behind. Nobody would have been willing to tell him, of course. His teammates stood silent as they aimed for him, ignoring the Scout's cries, "ignore that fuckin' Kraut, what is wrong with youse? Fatty actually HAS a freakin' gun!", too full of hate and shame at how they had been attacked, violated. And Medic was perversely proud of that.  
Idiot still tried to scream. Muffled by the cloth, and with no tongue he was incapable of forming words, just desperate moans.

Medic took off one of his gloves, and ran his hand along the Scout's bloody arms. Glorious warmth, he watched it dripping down, his wrists to his upper arm covered in light cuts, blood from all of them flowing towards his back, disappearing once it reached his shirt, reappearing as it soaked through the material. He wanted to lick it. He reasoned it must be safe; the boy was young, unlikely to have been exposed to any diseases. He smothered his face in it, licking straight from the cuts. The taste made him twitch. Bitter. Delicious.

He pulled down the Scout's shorts. His skin was soft. Pale and untainted. He lay his hand upon one buttock and marred it with a bloody handprint.  
The Scout began to scream again, realising what was happening. He had only thought of this as sadistic torture. Naïve soul. He was fodder. An experiment in perfecting the art of revenge. Medic grabbed the muscle tight, turning it pink, and shutting the Scout up, if for just a moment.

Grinning madly, the Medic had an idea. He rubbed the boy's arm up and down once again, smearing blood around his hand. Clots were beginning to form already, but there would be enough. Scout winced at the sting. He would have thought Scout would be used to lighter cuts, surely he had plenty of grazed knees and scratches, the runt. These cuts were only just worse. Pathetic. Medic himself had survived worse. That's how this had started, after all. Medic pinned down and bleeding. Yes, Scout had a teammate to blame for this pain. No, it wasn't Medic's fault, oh no, a cowardly backstabber was to blame for all this.

Medic unbuttoned and unzipped using his non-bloody hand, and pulled out his cock. Rubbed it up and down with the boy's own blood. Verdammt, it looked good.  
No need to for gentleness. This would be one of the least painful things Scout would experience before he died.  
He still screamed. Medic didn't blame him.

He stopped moving. The Scout thrashed enough for both of them.

Picking up his scalpel again, he lifted the boy's shirt and cut down his back, properly this time. From the base of his neck to the small of his back, the blood flowed fast. A high-pitched scream penetrated the cloth in his mouth, and Medic had to shut him up; pushing the Scout's bound arms up towards his head, the muscles must have been in agony, never intended to bend that way.  
Presumably the boy had become accustomed to dying fast and forgetting about it before he respawned. Just like his own Scout, dazed and confused for a moment, then running straight back into battle, fearless, yelling over his shoulder, "'sfine, Doc, I was dead before I felt it!" Slowly suffering through pain would most certainly stick around in his mind.

He started to fuck the Scout, using a little more blood, for Medic's comfort. He leaned forward, making sure the Scout could hear his every moan, whimper of ecstasy. He wanted the Scout to know how much he enjoyed this.

He dug his fingers into the Scout's sides, his nails pinching into the skin. Not that Scout could really feel that over the agony of his back, no, this was, again, purely for Medic's benefit.  
He sat back up, picking up the scalpel again. Another incision in the back, this time horizontal, halfway down. A nice red cross. Almost a shame that respawning would take away this scar, it would have been nice to have marked them all.

Scout's pulse was rapid, and he struggled to breathe in enough air through his nose. He remembered how the boy must be feeling by this point. Woozy, he would be unable to talk properly even if he could. Soon his muscles would start burning and he wouldn't be able to comprehend anything the Medic said to him.

He hoped he would be unable to comprehend soon. Having someone talk to you as you're close to death is a comfort. Being unable to understand a word is torture. He knew.  
He felt he was close. Holding off was imperative. Scout needed to feel everything. They all needed to feel everything. Just one left before Spy. He had nearly perfected this. So close.  
He thought about the origin of all of this to stave off the inevitable for as long as possible. A distraction.

 

It was a stupid mistake. Spy had pinned him down when he got separated from the rest of his team - he had just lost his Heavy, and in the heat of battle everyone forgets about respawn, forgets they're aren't gone forever, and Medic ran, too panicked to draw a weapon and defend himself. He had anticipated a clean backstab, a quick death. But no, of course not. The Spy explained that they were all alone and that he liked to toy with his prey when he had the opportunity. Oh, he did.

He sliced every last bit of the Medic's back, slowly, every inch agony. He punctuated all those slices with stabs, and Medic tried to visualise his body, trying to picture if he had punctured any vital organs as he felt his body begin to shut down. As he lay there, powerless, the Spy moved back, to pin the Medic by his legs. He held his knife, slathered in blood, between his teeth and reached around to grab the Medic's crotch with one hand, and his own with the other. It was obviously a ploy to humiliate, there was no affection. It hurt. Obviously, not as much as the gashes on his back, but it hurt, it burned, the way the bastard kneaded his groin, all the while getting off on his victim's agony.

Once he had finished (loudly), the warm liquid still seeping into his wounds (making him wish he could throw up at the sheer thought if only he had the strength to retch), the Spy knew Medic didn't have enough strength to fight and lay next to him, watching him trying to form a single word, croaking, choking.

"Pathetic," was all he muttered while Medic lay there, struggling to hold on. Pathetic. When actually facing death, if staring at their killer, their lips moving and none of it making any sense, black clouding the edge of their vision and death nearing, base instinct overrides logic.

He wanted to kill the man. Wanted to slice his neck wide open. As he ran out of oxygen, that was all he could think. Using up the last of his strength, he reached out and grabbed the Spy's tie. Choke. Suffer.

Soon he would. Soon he would choke on his own blood.  
The only reason that revenge is a dish best served cold is because it takes time to perfect it. Time and lots of practice.

 

He was still close. Scout was still alive. Shivering badly, but still alive.  
To hell with it. He wasn't dying fast enough.

He pulled out his Übersaw, and plunged it straight into the boy's back. He leaned forward, fucking hard.

"Scout. Boy. Listen to me."

He took a wheeze to mean that he heard.

"You have little time. Your last memory will be of me fucking you. You know that." He stopped speaking for a moment to check the boy's pulse. Still alive. So cold. "Feels good. Ja, I've enjoyed you. Far from the best. But you felt good."

It didn't matter what he said now. The boy was hearing as if he were underwater. Effectively, it was like drowning, he gasped for oxygen but there was none, and the world hung above him, a million miles away. He could feel Medic but his voice was above the surface.  
Didn't matter. Scout would remember. Scout would fear him. And Scout served as good practice for the Spy. Especially so, similar build, only slightly weaker. He had almost perfected this. He couldn't think of anything he'd done wrong, so far, save for getting a tad carried away, maybe stabbing him a little earlier than he should have.  
He checked Scout's pulse again.

Scheiße.  
Thought too soon.

He carried on anyway, too close to care. He pulled the Übersaw from his back, and picked up the scalpel, cutting the ties from his arms, letting them flop to his side, then slicing up any pure flesh he could see.  
Frantically slicing and fucking and thinking and dripping with blood and biting his lip, he grabbed Scout's shoulder and came.

He flopped forward on top of the body, which he instantly regretted. Blood stained his uniform. The others would ask questions. He enjoyed that too much. That was his mistake, this time; he let himself get caught up in the act. He'd never let one die before he came before.

He didn't want to pull out. Regaining his breath, he idly began to wonder if it could be classed as necrophilia if they were alive initially.  
And that idle thought was his last, for the time being.

"Sick fuckin' cunt."  
The barrel of the Scout's gun pressed against the back of Medic's head, and he pulled the trigger, blasting the Medic's sick mind over his victim's corpse before he could comprehend what had happened.

Another lesson learned; avoid the area around their base. They'll come back.


End file.
